You tap, I glow as a tiny sun, I hold your secrets and shame. You say you’ll quit me: sure, that’s fun Then you use me just the same.

Take a small temporary bed, and add two thousand pounds. That's what I am.

I sip every drop though I have no thirst, I’m busiest last when the shower ends first. I wear a metal crown and live in the floor, I also swallow storms, crumbs, and secrets by the score.

I am known for protecting your eyes from dust and debris, but I do not express emotion on my own. You might brighten and lengthen me, but not naturally me.

I resemble a miniature world, but I do not exist in a solar system or space. You can knock other versions out of a circle with me.